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haven’t got anything.’
    â€˜You need an income. I’ve just been offered more than three times what I’m on now . . . No, that’d be mad. Wouldn’t it?’ I haven’t drunk as much as she has, but I’ve had a fair bit.
    â€˜What’s the prollem?’ she slurs, wide-eyed. ‘No one needs to find out apart from you and me. Laurie’s right: if you blow this chance, everyone’ll think you’re a dick. And if you hoard your wealth like a Scroogey miser . . .’
    â€˜So this is the great challenge that was missing from your life? Forcing me to take a job I don’t want so that you can nick half my salary?’ I’m not even sure she means what she’s saying. I wait for her to tell me she’s only kidding.
    â€˜You wouldn’t have to fund me for ever,’ she says instead. ‘Just until I sort myself out with a new career. I’d quite like to work for the UN, as an interpreter.’
    I sigh. ‘Do you speak anything, apart from English and Pissed?’
    â€˜I could learn. Russian and French is a good combination, apparently. I did some Googling before I left the office. For the last time ever ,’ she adds pointedly, reminding me of her hard-done-by status. ‘If you’ve got those two languages . . .’
    â€˜Which you haven’t.’
    â€˜. . . then all you need’s a translation qualification, which you can get at Westminster Uni, and the UN’ll snap you up.’
    â€˜When? In four years’ time?’
    â€˜More like six.’
    â€˜How about I support you while you look for a job in your field ?’ I stress the last three words. ‘With your track record, you could get one tomorrow.’
    â€˜No, thanks,’ says Tamsin. ‘No more TV for me. TV’s the rut I was stuck in until today. I’m serious, Fliss. Ever since I left university, I’ve been a wage-slave. I don’t want to rush out and find new shackles, now that I’m free. I want to do some living – walk in the park, go ice-skating . . .’
    â€˜What happened to learning French and Russian?’ I ask.
    She waves away my concern. ‘There’s plenty of time for that. Maybe I’ll see if there’s a local evening class or something, but mainly I want to . . . take stock, walk around, soak up the atmosphere . . .’
    â€˜You live in Wood Green.’
    â€˜Could you stretch to a flat in Knightsbridge if I’m willing to settle for one bedroom?’
    â€˜Stop,’ I tell her, deciding the joke has gone on long enough. ‘This is exactly why I don’t want to be rich. I don’t want to turn into the sort of person who thinks it’s my God-given right to have more cash than I know what to do with and keep it all for myself. Here I am listening to you witter on, thinking, “Why should I give half my hard-earned fortune to an idle waster?” I’m already turning into that Scroogey miser you mentioned earlier and I haven’t even said I’ll take the job!’
    Tamsin blinks at me, her powers of comprehension impaired by alcohol. Eventually she says, ‘You’d resent me.’
    â€˜Probably, yes. The ice-skating might just tip me over the edge.’
    She nods. ‘That’s okay. I wouldn’t hold it against you. You can call me a feckless scrounger to my face, if you like, as long as I get my share of the money. I’d rather be insulted by you than have to tout myself round prospective employers feeling the way I do now—unwanted and worthless. What am I talking about?’ She slaps herself on the wrist, then hits my leg, hard. ‘Look what you’ve done—your negativity’s totally dragged me down!’
    â€˜I’m turning down the job, Tam.’
    She groans.
    â€˜Which means I’ll probably get my marching orders too by the end of the week. We can go to the National Portrait Gallery together.’